Orb

by Gary Tarulli

  “Can’t be done,” Paul agreed.

  “If I had the height of the object, the calculation would be simple,” Melhaus replied. “We can take an extreme: If the object were fifty meters tall, the sighting distance increases to approximately twenty-five kilometers.”

  “OK, let’s make that assumption,” Thompson responded. “Somewhere between five and twenty-five kilometers. Is there any reason not to send Ixodes to the general area? Diana?”

  “I wish I could give you one,” she responded. “The submersible has collected, and I’m in the initial stages of examining, samples of live plankton. That’s good. Very good. Unfortunately, other life forms remain undetected. And because of that, I’m starting to stress, really stress.”

  Thompson studied her carefully, weighing, I think, the extent to which she was joking. After considering a moment, he then turned his attention back to Melhaus.

  “Send Ixodes. Program her on a mapping course. Keep all of her other operational commands as is.”

  Melhaus went off to make it happen, content with the decision.

  “Is that cove worth a special visit?” Thompson asked, looking at Kelly. She blushed slightly, so I answered for both of us.

  “You could say that.” As I was speaking, Kelly excused herself and headed for Desio.

  Thompson looked after her, then devoted his attention to Paul and Diana. “If you two take a break to go there, which seems a good idea, just let somebody know first.”

  “A little later?” Paul asked Diana.

  “Definitely,” she responded, nudging him. “But for now I have a batch of weird phytoplankton under the scope.”

  With the meeting over, I was about to head for my cabin when Thompson stopped me.

  “And you and Kelly? Together and separately, that is?”

  Thompson phrased the question exactly as he did a day ago. He had picked up a change in our demeanor, a subtle alteration in our body language.

  “Fine,” I responded. He deserved a more truthful answer. He was only looking out for his crew.

  The next few hours Kelly and I performed routine maintenance and upkeep chores on Desio. When asked, we assisted the other four members of the crew, or I should say three: I noticed that Doctor Melhaus never requested assistance.

  The occasions I spent alone with Kelly were brief and work-related. I noticed with regret that the casual intimacy of our conversations was replaced by an uneasy politeness. Although we had both tried to minimize the emotional damage, a dull hurt remained. The best I could manage was to ask her if she’d like to take Angie for a while. This, with a trace of sadness, was eagerly accepted.

  Later in the day I observed Paul and Diana, looking refreshed, crossing Red Square. They were returning from a visit to the other end of the island and a satisfying swim in the ocean. Shortly after that I overheard most of a conversation between Thompson and Melhaus. The physicist was being urged to take a short break at the cove. By bringing his AID along, he would still be capable of controlling all of Ixodes’ functions. From the tone of the conversation, I understood Melhaus wasn’t interested. Thompson didn’t press him.

  Well into the afternoon a very pleasant breeze had come up, followed by a few widely dispersed cumulus clouds marching in from the north—from the location I had seen … nothing. I wasn’t quite convinced of that, but the crew was, especially when Ixodes, after hours of searching, came up empty.

  A decent-sized swath of ocean had been explored, an area the size of a large city, without any indication of life other than the phytoplankton. It was very early in the mission but the disappointing results visibly subdued the crew. With our expectations moderating, Melhaus approached Thompson. Claiming the numbers were conservative, he asked permission to remotely reprogram the sub to operate in water depths exceeding its engineered maximum. Thompson said he’d consider the request—but not so early in the mission. Melhaus did not argue the point.

  As evening approached, a decision was made to remove the table and chairs from the mission room in order to enjoy our communal meals, with the ocean as a backdrop, outside in the warm fresh air. Ambient lighting was augmented by redirecting and dimming Desio’s navigation lights. As we ate dinner a general discussion ensued.

  “I just don’t understand it,” Diana said, exasperated. “Or maybe I don’t want to understand. All the grab samples Ixodes analyzed and discarded, plus all the samples I took from shore, and not a single indicator of life. Only the plankton. Nothing more complex, nothing less complex. Only the plankton. Like it was somehow deposited here. I was so much hoping for more, a lot more. From what you’re telling me, I’m becoming convinced nothing else will be found.”

  “What are you hearing?” I asked. I had not been privy to the ongoing discussions between the four mission scientists. “What’s driving this conclusion?”

  Diana was formulating a reply, thought better of it, then said, “Paul? How about your piece of the puzzle first. I could stand to hear it again myself.”

  “What Diana wants me to tell you, Kyle, is that, unlike on Earth, the climate here appears to be extraordinarily stable. One explanation is the absence of features such as large land masses and mountain ranges that generate or influence weather systems.” Paul paused. “Let me amend that. There is one dominant feature: An enormous heat sink of an ocean with its phenomenal ability to eliminate rapid temperature swings and moderate temperature planet-wide. As a result, there are no microclimates. Because the planet has no axial tilt, north and south hemispheres have essentially the same weather.

  “There is nothing to contradict a picture of long-term climate stability; not from tests conducted by the prior expedition, not from information gathered during yesterday’s orbit, and not from the initial results of my studies here. Oh, yeah, I left out something. It’s a good lead in for you, Bruce: P5, unlike Earth, never had a period of volcanic activity to alter the atmosphere. There is no indication the planet ever had a protracted ice age.”

  “No sign of an ice age or an extended period of global warming,” Thompson submitted.

  “I have yet to see evidence of either,” Paul agreed.

  “OK, Kyle, here’s my part in this,” Thompson said. “In liberal arts form. Two years ago, I, along with others, examined rock samples brought back by the previous expedition. It was easy to establish P5's age as 2.5 billion Earth years. That is to say one billion P5 years. And yet, despite the planet’s relative youth, it is as stable geologically as it is climatologically. The stability can be explained, in part, by two major factors: tectonic plates and a moon. P5 has neither. Consequently, I have measured no meaningful seismic activity. There are no volcanoes, earthquakes, or tides to speak of. To some extent, this explains why there is little sand and no soil.

  “I am summarizing a mix of fact and, for the moment, conjecture. Many things remain a mystery to me.” Following Thompson’s stare, seeing the look of concentration on his face, there was no mistaking he meant the spires forming the backdrop to our landing site. “Yes, much is left to be accomplished here. For all of us. I’m sure Doctor Melhaus will attest to that. You’re up next, Larry.”

  For my benefit, a climatologist and a geologist had painted a picture of the planet that Diana, a biologist, would complete. But not before we heard from Melhaus. I was wondering what color he would add to the palette. He had been listening but didn’t appear to be exuding his usual excess of self-confidence. I looked across the table at Kelly, who had followed the conversation with interest and was now focusing her attention on the esteemed physicist.

  “Within the boundaries of this discussion,” Melhaus began, “I can provide only rudimentary input. Decide for yourselves if it coincides with what you’re beginning to believe. First, on the approach to P5, I ascertained that the solar system was nearly devoid of asteroids, either never existing in appreciable number or having been absorbed, swept clean you could say, by the sun and planet. The scarcity of asteroids equates to few, if any, meteors impacting the pl
anet. Those making it to the surface would have their impact absorbed by the ocean. In sum, unlike on Earth, meteors can be eliminated as a potential source of climate change.

  “As for an analysis of the chemical composition of the ocean … maybe … the ocean’s salinity is one percent versus three percent generally found on Earth. Not much else can be proffered without further analysis.”

  Curious, I thought, that Melhaus seemed to be holding back something. Was he keeping scientific terminology at a minimum in deference to me? If so, he was overcompensating.

  “Larry, maybe you noticed this,” Kelly volunteered, eying him closely. “There are colors, barely noticeable, when the ocean water is agitated.”

  “Well…” Melhaus responded, “…if you press me on it, there are unusual types of organic and inorganic molecular compounds—some are a type of metalloid—forming a unique heterogeneous mixture in the ocean. I have never seen anything like this. Suffice it to say I am pursuing the matter with vigor.”

  We took our cue from Thompson and decided, for the present, not to pursue the subject. The conversation naturally flowed back to Diana.

  “Kyle, what my colleagues have done is annihilate a theory explaining the staggering diversity and complexity of life on Earth. Or at least one of its main tenets: Change. Despite this, the phytoplankton is evolved enough—ha, I shouldn’t use that word—complicated enough to have numerous precursors: Less complex organisms occupying the same environment. But where are they? I mean, did the phytoplankton suddenly materialize out of thin air? If precursor organisms existed did they suddenly and completely die off? I see no evidence of it. Compounding the problem is the organism has no gene sequences. Not as we’ve come to understand them. What’s left to explain their existence? That the little critter is now, and has always, occupied an entire planet all by its lonesome? I’m not looking forward to postulating that theory when we return home.

  Diana appeared crestfallen. Completely understandable. Her expectation of exploring a planet ocean rich in biodiversity had been radically altered. The words “don’t despair” uttered by Paul were inadequate comfort.

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” she responded. “It’s exactly because the little critter is so different that it can represent a lifetime of study.” The attempt to portray a change of mood was unconvincing. I decided to try a different tact.

  “I have a solution to your problem, Diana.”

  She looked at me warily. “And what would that be?”

  “The phytoplankton, I’ve heard you say, produces a prodigious amount of oxygen, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “In fact, the organism produces all the oxygen, both in the air and in the water, on the planet?”

  “You know it does.”

  “Well, I think the little bugger was brought here by a highly advanced alien race and deliberately seeded in the ocean. And for what purpose? Obvious: Generating sufficient quantity of oxygen so as to create a hospitable and habitable world.”

  It had been a long time since anyone elicited a spontaneous laugh from Doctor Melhaus, but I did so now. Quite a deprecating laugh, at that.

  “That’s Kyle,” Thompson said, “for better or for worse, always giving us something to think about.”

  “I aim to please,” I said, giving Thompson a wry grin. “Is the idea too farfetched, Diana?”

  “Let’s put it this way,” she answered, “there isn’t a single shred of evidence to support your contention.”

  “You realize, Diana,” Thompson interjected, “Kyle here has a serious problem, similar, in a way, to yours. Actually, it’s a problem, to varying degree, we all share.”

  “And what exactly is that?” asked Diana.

  “Isn’t it obvious? He needs the bizarre or sensational to happen. Something dramatic to write about. That something has yet to come along, so he’s trying hard to invent shit. Or should I say, Kyle, you’re trying to get us to do it for you?”

  “Just trying to help out,” I said.

  With darkness nearly upon us, Kelly and I cleared the last remains of dinner from the outside table, allowing the crew (except Paul, who was finishing an experiment monitoring the diffusion of light through the atmosphere) an opportunity to put their equipment to bed. The day had been demanding—emotionally, intellectually, and physically—and we intended to claim our just reward: Our landing site was well situated on an open expanse of the island’s south side, facilitating a panoramic view, all save north, but most important, a view westward, over the ocean, toward the setting of the sun.

  The sun would not disappoint.

  Huge, intense, fiery blue; singeing the horizon where the ocean appeared poised to boil from the bands of heat wavering in the surrounding atmosphere.

  Unexpectedly, there came a hush, a preternatural quiet. As if the world itself was watching the sun’s final reluctance—a hovering, a suspension of time—before the inexorable process of relinquishing heat and blazing color in one last glorious act of surrender and submersion: Divergent beams of light radiated skyward, a watery blanket spread over a disappearing head.

  The sky came alive with radiant shades of blue becoming progressively darker—Persian blue changing to sapphire changing to midnight blue—until blue was lost to black and day was lost to night. A night unlike any seen on Earth for untold generations. Without pollution and light pollution. A moonless night of a million silver, red, and blue pinpoints of light shimmering in startling clarity clear down to the horizon.

  The pleasant light breeze had stilled in the early evening; the ocean was eerily quiescent. We were about to retire when Thompson (of all of us, the most adept at identifying objects on open water, a skill honed from time spent as a boat pilot) sighted something moving far out to sea.

  “At first glance I thought it was a star, a dim one,” he said, trying to point out the location, “but the object’s movement, both in velocity and direction, can not be explained by the planet’s rotation. Unfortunately, I don’t think the binoculars will do much to resolve this … I’m losing it now … gone. Anybody else see it?”

  None of us could confirm what he saw.

  “I can send Ixodes to that quadrant,” Melhaus volunteered.

  “Violates operational protocol,” Thompson responded. “Not a good idea to move her about at night when we’ll all be sleeping.”

  “I can monitor the submersible for a couple of hours and still get sufficient sleep.”

  Thompson considered a moment. “OK,” he said, “but no more than two hours, then give it a rest. We can’t afford to put her in jeopardy this early in the mission.”

  “Understood,” Melhaus answered.

  “Perhaps it was some type of electric discharge into the atmosphere,” suggested Paul, his eyes following Melhaus, who was rushing into Desio with his AID in hand. “But, no, I can’t prove that.”

  “Or maybe Kyle and I are starting to see objects that aren’t there,” Thompson added.

  “There’s always that too,” Paul said. “If we take a page from Kyle’s psychology handbook, maybe you both want something to be there that isn’t. No offense to either of you.”

  “Can’t fault you for thinking it,” I said. “Bruce, however, is less subject to seeing things than I am. A bit more grounded, shall I say?”

  “A bit?” said Diana, mocking me, and then in the next breath, mocking herself. “If wishful thinking applied here, I’d be seeing something resembling plesiosaurs humping in the water.”

  “Is that the best you can do?” I asked.

  “Red ones? With gossamer wings?”

  “That’s a bit better.”

  “With that fantasy,” said Diana, “I think I’ll turn in. I’m exhausted.”

  “We’re a tired bunch, no doubt,” said Kelly. “I’m ordering seven hours sleep.”

  There was no disagreement and everybody headed into Desio for a welcome night’s rest. I held back, wishing to enjoy the night. And let the solitude, together with a million stars a
nd a vast ocean, encourage introspection. Specifically, how badly I had reacted to Kelly’s expression of emotion.

  I walked a hundred meters from the ship and found a suitable boulder to sit on. Angie was with me now, having gravitated back from Kelly. I had heard Paul predict that the nighttime temperature would be very comfortable. He was right. Hard to imagine that if I was sitting in this identical spot several months from now I’d be staring out at a frozen ocean. Of all the times, and there have been many, I’ve seen large bodies of water, never have they appeared so calm. The perfect flatness of a frozen lake. Stars reflecting off the surface.

  Fascinating substance, water. Ubiquitous. Unifying. We equate it with life. Did I see something out there today? I could almost swear I felt something present, but the feeling, as intangible as the sighting, was harder to explain and I kept it to myself.

  A multitude of stars above me, not one of them the Sun. I advised Thompson that being this far removed from Earth could result in adjustment problems for the crew. I provided what I thought to be valid reasons, including being denied the comforts of a wider society. Assuming I’m right, no two people would react the same way. As for me? Hard to assess when I often feel alone in a crowd. That wasn’t unique to me. More troubling, however, is that I sometimes feel alone when I’m with Kelly. One part of me abhors the isolation, another embraces it. A handy explanation of why I chose to become a writer. A lonely profession: Observation, essential; interaction, optional.

  What, exactly, is the true value of introspection? How well do we know ourselves? How well can we? Can a person change? Case in point: I’ve avoided coming to terms with what happened today between Kelly and me.

  “I have a better understanding of you, pooch,” I said, nestling her little head in my hands, “than I do of most people.”

  I lost track of time and started drifting when Angie, shifting in my lap, alerted me to someone’s approach. Kelly.

  “You weren’t in your room,” she said. “You should come in and get some much needed sleep. Doctor’s orders.”